


The Precipice of Change

by TheMoments (TBs_LMC)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Adamant Fortress (Dragon Age), Alternate History, Amaranthine (Dragon Age), Angst, Apostates (Dragon Age), Bisexual Cullen Rutherford, Brief Mention of Consensual Relationship Begun When Both Were 17, Broken Hearts, Broken Lives, Canon Gay Relationship, Canon Related, Canon Sexuality, Canonical Character Death, Circle Mage Bethany Hawke, Crestwood (Dragon Age), Developing Relationship, Dragon Age: Inquisition Quest - Here Lies the Abyss, During Canon, Emotional Hurt, Established Relationship, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Grey Wardens, Heartache, Heartbreak, Hero of Ferelden - Freeform, Highever (Dragon Age), M/M, Men Crying, Named Hawke (Dragon Age), Named Trevelyan (Dragon Age), Non-Canon Relationship, Non-Explicit Sex, Non-Justice Anders (Dragon Age), Ostwick (Dragon Age), Past Relationship(s), Post-Canon, Post-Dragon Age II, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition Quest - Here Lies the Abyss, Post-Dragon Age: Origins, Post-Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening, Post-Game(s), Pre-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Pre-Relationship, Prophecy, Rebuilding, Sebastian Being An Asshole, Skyhold (Dragon Age), Storm Coast (Dragon Age), Suicide By Friend, Sweet Merrill (Dragon Age), Tears, The Fade, Unhealthy Relationships, Varric Tethras is a Good Friend, Vigil's Keep (Dragon Age), Warden Tabris (Dragon Age), World Travel, dragon age: inquisition AU, finding closure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:42:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29224887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TBs_LMC/pseuds/TheMoments
Summary: “That’s what happens when you try to change things; things change. You can’t always control how.”								~Hawke, Dragon Age InquisitionFollow Hawke's journey as he deals with his new present, revisits his past and reshapes his future, beginning the moment his eyes meet Cullen's after Meredith's defeat.
Relationships: Anders/Male Hawke, Dorian Pavus/Male Trevelyan, Fenris/Male Hawke, Male Hawke/Cullen Rutherford, Male Hawke/Male Trevelyan (Dragon Age)
Kudos: 5





	1. Kirkwall

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS:  
> 1) Some of you may not know it's possible for one particular of the NPCs to die (I only just recently discovered as much) so when it happens, please do not throw eggs, as it is conditional canon.  
> 2) There is a very brief nod toward a relationship that began one month before two characters turned 18 so technically it's an underage mention and I just want to call it out so I don't get hate mail.  
> 3) For the most part, all of this either is canon or could fit into the canon we know across all three games, but some of you may not agree entirely with that so I've slapped an AU label in there just to be on the safe side.  
> 4) My Cullen is always bisexual because, reasons. So that definitely sits on the non-canon side of the equation.  
> 5) You might need a handkerchief here and there. I know I did.
> 
> Also, if you would like to see my versions of the main guys - at least the versions I used in the play-throughs that resulted in this fic - you'll find screenshots at the end of Chapter 8 (last chapter).

**THE PRECIPICE OF CHANGE**

* * *

KIRKWALL

There was no world in which this wasn’t going to turn out badly for many, many people. Elves and humans alike were going to feel the abject horror of what Kirkwall’s Mage versus Templar war unleashed not only upon the Circle itself, not only upon the city-state itself, not only upon the Free Marches, not only upon Ferelden…but upon all of Thedas.

Hawke knew this instinctively as he stood helplessly watching Cullen to see what his decision would be. He wasn’t a mage, but his mage live-in boyfriend had just blown the chantry all to hell a few hours ago. His mage boyfriend who’s standing right next to him half-defiant and half-silently-begging-for-someone-to-kill-him-and-get-it-over-with now that the immediate threats have passed.

He thought, as his eyes narrowed and caught Cullen’s, about that moment at the altar on Sundermount in which Flemeth, in all her beauty and glory, said words to him that he hadn’t understood at all.

_“We stand upon the precipice of change. The world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss. Watch for that moment, and when it comes, do not hesitate to leap. It is only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly.”_

The precipice of change. Hawke knew, as he locked eyes with the Knight-Captain, that Flemeth’s prophecy – for that had surely been what it was without a shadow of any doubt – had begun.

He had leapt into a relationship that even Varric, who adored ‘Blondie’ almost as if the sun rose over his golden hair, had had words with Hawke about his choice of who to fall for. He had leapt to the aid of a clearly troubled former slave who had killed his saviors simply because his master had ordered him to. He had leapt to help a Dalish fix a mirror that killed people, only to forced into slaughtering her entire clan later. He had leapt in to help a prince avenge the murder of his entire family, only to be turned on when _he_ needed support in the aftermath of Anders’ terrible deed.

Cullen’s eyes narrowed as well. “We stand upon the precipice of change,” Hawke said quietly, and noted how Cullen’s eyes widened slightly.

Sometimes there were moments that defied explanation. Hawke recalled distinctly that seeing Carver killed by the ogre was one of those, in which time no longer existed during dizzying seconds where from one breath to another, his brother was suddenly just _gone_.

A moment very much like right now, only this was different enough as to leave an indelible mark upon him that Hawke felt like a brand inside his chest. It was as if the entirety of existence stopped dead and allowed two of its creations extra moments outside of time to make a connection that otherwise could never have been made for the rapidity of unfolding events.

In this moment, light brown eyes met blazing amber-red-gold ones. Hawke saw a flash deep into the man’s psyche. Something within him pulled out of itself and Cullen seemed to take it in with a hitch in his breath even as he relinquished a piece of his own essence for Hawke to consume. He couldn’t explain it. He couldn’t ever hope to understand it. Couldn’t ask anyone about it for fear of playing the ignorant fool. But it was there. They connected, irrevocably. And then the wheel began turning again.

Cullen lowered his sword. Every Templar present lowered their weapons. Cullen began backing away, just enough that it was clear he intended to let Hawke and his group of three mages, one dwarf, one prince and one Guard-Captain walk between rows of what would formerly have been certain death in the shape and form of templar warriors.

Tears sprang unbidden to Hawke’s eyes as he passed a white-haired corpse not ten steps to his right. Of all the men he’d expected to kill today, Fenris had not been on that list. But he had taken Meredith’s side, righteously furious over Hawke’s decision to side with the mages. In battle he had come at Hawke with full lyrium glow in effect, wielding the very sword he himself had gifted the former slave with. Merrill had cried openly when she’d petrified him long enough for Hawke’s dagger to slit his throat.

It was over in less than a minute. Red bled into blue. Green eyes filled with pain and anger turned quickly to regret and resignation as the life leeched from his tortured body. His voice, that beautiful, deep voice, now silent forever. His running from shackles that had never truly disappeared, over. A slave filled with hate now resting against the pavement of a monument built by his former master’s people, to remind everyone of his own peoples’ suffering from ages past.

Hawke would never stop seeing those eyes in his dreams, staring at him until the life was gone from them for good.

Sebastian cursed Hawke the moment they were out of the Gallows. “Let me kill him now, and I will spare Kirkwall.”

“I will die if it saves lives,” Anders offered.

“Too bad you didn’t have that attitude when you murdered Elthina,” Sebastian spat, whipping his dagger out from behind his back and lunging for the mage.

Hawke tackled Sebastian to the ground.

“How could you?” Sebastian asked, eyes wet, anger twisting his normally placid features as the dagger skittered out of his hand across the pavement. A loud rumble and scrape as the huge metal gate rolled closed behind them. “Hawke,” Sebastian nearly cried as tears squeezed out of his eyes, his fingers grasping for purchase against the partial-cloth front of the Champion’s armor, “how _could you_? She trusted you, loved you and your family!”

“You mean,” Hawke corrected as he pinned Sebastian’s wrists to the pavement, “how could I do this to _you_.”

Sebastian’s mouth clamped shut. Anger glinted in his drying eyes. “I trusted you,” he whispered. “Fought for you. Shared some of my most intimate moments and struggles with you.”

Hawke swallowed. “You clung to me like everyone did,” he stated and with purposeful unkindness as he released Sebastian and hopped to his feet. “Nobody could make their own decisions. Nobody could do anything for themselves.” He shook his head. “You spent _years_ waffling about committing to the chantry versus an entire city you inherited from generations of royal blood and yet you chastise me for being unable to kill the man _I_ swore my devotion to – that I have shared my waking and sleeping life with for _years_ – within mere minutes of discovering what he’d done? With no due process, no _justice_?”

The word was not lost on Hawke.

“We stand on the precipice of change,” Hawke stated for the second time in barely fifteen minutes. “You will decide how _you_ are going to change, but I? I have _never_ changed my focus or my loyalty. I am the man I was when I lost my brother to a darkspawn ogre in Ferelden.” He shook his head. “I have Bethany, now, as the only family I care to claim, and she is a mage. You think, you honestly _believe_ , Sebastian, what Fenris seemed to? That I would _agree_ with Meredith sending her Templars to kill every single mage in the Circle _including my sister_? Including mages who had done _nothing wrong_?”

“No!” Sebastian shouted as he, too, hopped to his feet. “You should have killed _him_ for what he did!” He jabbed a finger at Anders. “There would have been no need for the rite of annulment!”

“You _idiot_ ,” Aveline yelled, much to everyone’s surprise. “She was going to kill everyone in the Circle no matter whether or not Hawke executed Anders! She _left him_ to decide what should be done with Anders and headed off to prepare her army for the rite! There was never a condition of, ‘if you kill him I’ll spare all the mages’!”

Hawke could feel Anders wanting to speak up in the trembling of his arm where it barely touched his own. But he remained silent, allowing Merrill, of all people, to pick up the torch.

“And do you honestly expect any of us to believe,” the tiny Dalish woman chirped, “that your threats to raze an entire city are sane? Because I may have done some really stupid things in my life, but Hawke taught me that friends love each other and forgive each other their trespasses. Something that _you_ , if memory serves, spoke of many, many times in your preaching to us on the road, but don’t seem very inclined to actually follow through on.”

“The word you’re looking for,” Varric offered, “is hypocrite.”

“Sebastian,” Bethany said and the prince’s eyes noticeably softened upon hearing her voice. He watched her approach him, her hair a mess, covered in drying blood and guts, her robes ripped halfway up her left thigh. “Oh, Sebastian, I learned more of the Chant and the Maker and Andraste during my time in the Circle than I’d ever known before and this isn’t what any of them stand for. Meredith was no longer following what the Grand Cleric stood for, either. You know it,” she said softly as she took his hand. “Deep down, you do.”

“If Anders deserves to die, then so do I,” Hawke stated by way of hoping to end the conversation so they could get going before Cullen changed his mind. He heard Merrill gasp in fear as he retrieved Sebastian’s dagger and handed it to him hilt-first. “I began my time in Kirkwall as a mercenary. I have killed _hundreds_ of people in the last seven years. That is easily seven to ten times _more_ than Anders just killed, at least. The difference is that you, who _helped_ me kill so many of those people, didn’t give a shit about any of them. You only gave a shit about _her_ , so you want to level _an entire city_ because of that.”

“No. I want the man who killed Elthina to face justice, plain and simple. That is not the same as doing away with bandits and mercs and Tal-Vashoth who attack us first and you know it, Hawke.”

“Interesting choice of words,” mumbled Hawke, “considering this is all Justice’s fault.”

Anders made to counter that statement then quickly darted forward to defend Hawke as Sebastian instinctively started to lunge toward his fellow rogue. Bethany stepped away in shock, Merrill placing herself between the female Hawke and the man that Bethany had once hoped would be her very own prince.

“Try it, Choir Boy, and Starkhaven will be getting its ruler back in lots of tiny pieces,” Varric growled as he cocked Bianca for action. He shrugged as Sebastian backed down and re-sheathed his dagger. “Leave it to you to wait until _now_ to become interesting.”

“This isn’t over,” Sebastian seethed, clearly trying to mask how affected he was or was not by the words and deeds of those he used to call friends. He turned and stalked away, and Anders breathed a sigh of relief.

Hawke closed his eyes. “Aveline…”

“I have to go. I’m…for what it’s worth, I think you did the right thing, Hawke. But I have to…I need to find my husband. Donnic’s out there somewhere and all I can do is hope and pray that he lives still.”

A quick hug with tear-filled eyes and the woman he’d known since his brother and her husband were killed, was gone.

“Where are you going to go?” Varric asked as he reseated Bianca in her back holster.

Anders refused to look Hawke in the eyes. Merrill bit her lip and looked at Bethany. “Are you going with them?” she asked.

Bethany’s mouth opened but no sound emerged. She shrugged and tried again. “I don’t…William?”

Hawke smiled and opened his arms. Bethany was really the only person who called him by his given name anymore, since their mother had died. Her long, red-flame-golden hair that matched his exactly, cascaded over his biceps as she laid her head on his shoulder. Though her and Carver’s eyes had been startlingly, beautifully bright blue since birth, which set them apart from him, their hair had been the color of their father’s, and had always made them stand out whether they wanted to or not.

She pulled from the hug but not entirely away from him. He took in her freckled face, matching his and Carver’s so closely, sorrowfully noting that she looked so much older than her years. Thinking of how much she’d had to endure and learn and grow up since being only eighteen when she’d lost her twin. “Bethany, what do _you_ want to do?”

“Are you…” She twisted to look at Anders, who stood meekly some distance away with his hands upon the railing of the steps they still stood upon. “Are you and Anders leaving Kirkwall?”

“If they don’t,” Varric muttered, “the next few months will make today look like a peaceful Sunday stroll on the Wounded Coast.”

They’d turned Isabela over to the Qunari. Fenris was dead. Sebastian wanted to kill an entire city-state. Aveline and Varric were remaining in Kirkwall.

“We’ll be returning to Ferelden,” Hawke finally said. Anders whipped his head around to stare at him. Bethany smiled.

Merrill’s eyes grew large. “Am I allowed to come along, at least until we get there?”

“Of course, Merrill. We’ll head to Ostwick first. I can get help from my friend there, a distant family cousin by marriage. He’ll ensure we have safe passage to Amaranthine.”

“Amaranthine?” Anders asked. “I know people there, at the…at Vigil’s Keep.”

“I know. I’m counting on that to help us to Highever.”

“What’s in Highever?” Varric asked.

“The son of one of Grandfather’s best friends I’ve exchanged a few letters with, that I hope will be willing to put us up for a bit after our long journey,” Hawke replied.

“You sound as if you’ve really thought this through,” Merrill remarked.

“I have,” Hawke acknowledged. He sighed as he headed down the steps. Everyone followed him. “I’ve known I would need an escape plan for a very long time. Ever since I helped Flemeth.”

“What?” Bethany asked. “How so?”

“Remember what she said to me that day we helped Merrill release her from the amulet?” he asked.

“I remember she said something prophetic, but not all the words, no.”

Merrill nodded. “She said something about falling into an abyss, I believe.”

The other person who’d been there had been Fenris. Hawke resisted hearing Fenris’s voice in his mind as he, too, had spoken with Flemeth that day.

“We stand upon the precipice of change,” Hawke said for the third time in twenty minutes, voice wavering only slightly. “The world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss.” He waved his hands in the air to indicate Kirkwall at large. “Watch for that moment, and when it comes, do not hesitate to leap.” He stopped when he reached the bottom and had walked some distance out into the Gallows proper, filled now only with rubble and dust rather than Templars and tranquil mages.

Bethany’s face scrunched up in memory as she spoke in unison with her brother, “It is only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly.” She looked at him. “What did that mean?”

He half-shrugged. “I don’t think we know all of it yet, Sister. I don’t think we will for a long time to come. But she also said, ‘you have my thanks, and my sympathy’ and I knew right then and there that things were not going to go well. That something awful was going to happen that I’d need to be ready for.” Hawke shook his head. “At the time I didn’t know who’d be with me, but I knew I needed an escape plan and so, there you go.”

“You’ve been planning this for years,” Anders stated with something like admiration in his voice. That switched quickly to sorrow. “Did you know I would be the something awful that happened, I wonder?”

“I have, and…at some point I had an inkling.” He shrugged. Pulled himself out of thinking about it. “And so once we’re done resting at Highever, we’re going to embark upon the next step toward that abyss, whatever it may be. That part I don’t yet know. Okay?”

Bethany nodded. “Okay.”

Anders looked at him in a way that nearly broke Hawke’s heart. “And me?”

“You’re a free man, Anders. You helped us defend the mages, and that’s all I asked. Do with your freedom now what you will.”

Anders swallowed. He chanced a look at Varric, then at Merrill. “I…want to come with you. I’d very much like to return to Ferelden. If…you’ll have me.”

Hawke nodded once. Anders looked relieved.

“Start heading for that old slaver cavern entrance where we met up with Broo—” Varric’s voice hitched. He cleared his throat. “I’ll have horses and supplies waiting there for you by the time you get there.”

Hawke did what he never would have normally, not the least reason of which was that he didn’t want to insult Varric’s dwarven self, but he needed more than just an awkward bending touch and so he got down on his knees and the men embraced for the first and last time.

“I’ll cry myself to sleep every night,” Hawke said, only half-jokingly.

“Then I’m glad you won’t be here, because you know I can’t stand to see humans cry,” Varric retorted roughly, patting Hawke’s back.

They parted. Hawke rose to his feet. Varric walked to the right. Hawke, Bethany, Merrill and Anders walked to the left.

It was over. Kirkwall, all the people they’d met there, all the ways in which they’d killed, tried, failed, succeeded, stolen, loved, helped, hindered and lost, were now the past.

He would never see Kirkwall again.


	2. Ostwick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next stage of Hawke's journey returns him to his past.

OSTWICK

It was late when three road-weary mages and a rogue crossed the drawbridge into the small castle belonging to the minor noble family that Hawke had known for a great many years. He’d been especially close to youngest son Michael as he’d spent a year within these walls being trained in all his rogue specialties by Mic’s own trainer. The two men had fought side-by-side and sparred ceaselessly, becoming proficient at bow, daggers and the ability to dual-wield swords that most soldiers only used one-handed with a shield in the other.

But William Hawke and Michael Trevelyan were not most soldiers. In fact, they weren’t soldiers at all. While Hawke was a poor nobody eldest-born son of an apostate and a once-rich Kirkwallian noble, Trevelyan was – though minor – nobility through and through, and related to the Amell family somewhat distantly by marriage. It was during their downtimes from swordplay that Michael had seen fit to give Hawke some basic training in the finer points of not acting like he’d grown up on a farm rolling around in sheep shit.

And so it was that when the stable hands stopped their horses and Hawke dismounted, he found himself with an armful of a man he was so grateful to see that he nearly collapsed with relief. Because Michael had known him _before_.

Before the Blight.

Before Lothering fell.

Before Loghain allowed King Cailan and all Grey Wardens but two, to die at Ostagar.

Before Carver died.

Before he’d left Ferelden for the sake of his mother and sister.

Before Fenris.

Before Mother.

Before Anders.

Before Kirkwall.

Before he’d lived, loved and lost pieces of himself that could never be healed, whole or fixed ever again.

“Oh, William,” Trevelyan breathed into his ear as he held him tighter and tighter and…oh, yes. There’d been that, too. “I’ve missed you for so many years.”

Hawke breathed out a huff of a laugh. Fisted Michael’s tunic as he felt a dam try to burst. He shook with the effort of holding it in. Michael knew. He felt it in how the man’s body tensed and then he released him. The smile on his face was only partially genuine.

“You are William’s friends,” he said to Merrill and Anders. “And you must be Bethany,” he grinned, kissing the back of her hand with a flourishing bow. Bethany giggled. “Please, allow our illustrious David to show you to your rooms, where you will have hot baths and hot meals awaiting you and he will see to your every need, or fetch the appropriate maidservants as required.”

Anders looked at Hawke, and Hawke saw in his eyes that he knew there was a past with Michael. Hawke also knew he should say something, but he was barely holding himself together. David – who turned out to be a middle-aged butler of sorts – firmly escorted the three mages away while an unseen force pulled Hawke to follow Michael toward an entrance he recognized from their time there together for that year. It led to a back room built off the stables that was specifically made to be an indoor combat training center back during the Trevelyan brothers’ younger years, so their weapons and physical training could continue year-round rather than be hampered by winter’s cold.

Michael opened the door. They stepped inside. It smelled musty and Hawke sneezed. Michael closed the door behind them. Reached out with no need for sight. And Hawke went to him like a child having come home at long last. Here in the dark, where he couldn’t be visually embarrassed by his display, Hawke’s mouth opened against Michael’s shoulder, silently screaming to the depths of his gut, no breath coming like he was physically incapable of living anymore.

“Breathe,” Michael whispered into his ear as he held him close. “Let it out for me, William. Please… _breathe_.”

A ragged, gasping, guttural sound tore inward as Hawke forced air into his lungs at last, and in one long wail, screamed into his former lover’s tunic, hands gripping his biceps as he fell apart piece by piece by piece in the safety of arms belonging to one who had loved him before life had destroyed the hope in his eyes.

* * *

The men sank to their knees on the hard wood floor. Michael rocked him slowly, gently, one hand running up and down Hawke’s back while the other tangled in his silky soft hair which was clear down past the top knob of his spine now. The last Michael had seen him, when Hawke had ridden away at the end of the training program with his back ramrod straight as he fought to contain the grief they shared at their forced parting of ways, his hair was so short it was barely an inch long all the way round.

And then the Blight had come and horrors had been unleashed upon the world and for a long, long time Michael had not known if the man he’d fallen for within his first couple of weeks at his family’s estate, had survived. Hawke had vowed to return one day, as soon as he could ensure that his apostate sister and mother and brother were safely looked after, but both of them knew that would never happen, for the moment that Malcolm Hawke had perished it had fallen to his eldest son to lead the family for the rest of his days. And that meant that he could never return to Ostwick.

It had been a beautiful lie. A fantasy to keep Michael’s mind warm, though his body shivered for at least a year after at the physical loss of the man he’d come to crave. Sure, they were just boys, really, both seventeen, both having turned eighteen one month after William’s arrival at Trevelyan Manor. But they fit, and they loved, and they fulfilled a need neither had known was there until finding the other.

He’d identified it the moment he’d seen William Hawke’s form atop the steed, in the waning light of evening, the hunched shoulders and dimmed spirit that told him Hawke was no longer the same man. All those tales about the Champion of Kirkwall had left Michael expecting to see the same self-assured, wisecracking, sexy and beautiful man he’d known some decade earlier, maybe with a few crows feet or laugh lines added for flavor. But what he saw was someone that Kirkwall had chewed up and spit out, and it made him _ache_.

But Hawke wasn’t the only one different. Time changes everything and everyone, and now that William was nearing thirty and as yet unmarried because there had never been anyone who could hold a candle to William, he was being sent off in service to the chantry at a Conclave that had been called by Divine Justinia V to get mages and templars to sit down and talk so the war between them could end.

And he was leaving tomorrow morning. It had taken Hawke and his party too long to arrive thanks to a terrible storm that had kept them stuck in a cave for three solid days. Trevelyan’s departure could be delayed no longer, as his eldest brother had informed him in no uncertain terms two days prior.

Thus he literally had only tonight with someone he wanted so very much more time with. And so he whispered this into Hawke’s ear sometime later as Hawke’s sobs abated and he nuzzled into Michael’s neck. “I only have tonight,” he said for the third time in a row. This time he added, “Be with me tonight, lest we never have this chance again, William.”

* * *

Hawke hesitated. Nodded. Allowed Michael to undress him there in pitch black, with nothing soft beneath them and the need to remain quiet so the stable hands grooming their horses wouldn’t hear their cries of ecstasy.

But it wasn’t ecstasy so much as it was glorious misery. All the places Michael remembered how to touch. All the ways William remembered how to make his lover jump and moan. Bodies merged and for a few hours ten years after the last time, Michael Trevelyan and William Hawke exploded together like they always had, and for that short time Michael could forget he was being forced into chantry life and William could forget he was facing an uncertain future with three apostates under his charge, one of whom he still wasn’t sure he could ever forgive even though he still loved him.

Tonight he could pretend. Tonight he could spend himself over and over in arms that felt safe. Arms that felt loving. Arms that once were his entire world.

As they curled around each other on a floor that had left more bruises and scrapes than either would ever be able to count, they wept for what had been, what had been lost, and what never could be.

“I’ll always love you,” Michael whispered once they had fumblingly dressed in the darkness of the sparring room.

Hawke blindly reached out. Found Michael’s face leaned in. Kissed his cheek. “And I’ll always love you,” he replied.

Though they knew that never again would this occur, it meant something that in this moment, time slowed…that although they could not see each other, it looped itself around and around them until they weren’t breathing…were barely existing…and when their lips met it was a bright light of purity, painful pleasure and the exquisite torture of a love that could have been, but somehow yet would always be, needling its way into Hawke in a very real and literal sense. They connected, irrevocably. And then the wheel began turning again.

He was suddenly reminded of feeling as though he’d exchanged something with Cullen there in the Gallows and right here and now, it felt the same with Michael. Bit by bit, things broken inside of Hawke seemed to be finding puzzle pieces that fit together in very strange ways indeed.

And then they came back to time, and time to them, and the door opened and Hawke was taken to his room for a bath and a meal and three hours later when Michael Trevelyan’s band of travelers departed with wagon and horses at the crack of dawn, Hawke listened to them leave, rolled over in his bed and swore he could hear Flemeth’s voice.

_“You have my thanks, and my sympathy.”_

But Hawke was all cried out, certain he would never see Michael Trevelyan again.


	3. Amaranthine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short visit to a place from Anders' past. Paths diverge.

AMARANTHINE

Anders seemed to come alive in a way he hadn’t in some time. Though few Grey Wardens here knew him, they all knew _of_ him, and one in particular recognized him, embraced him, held him for a very long time. They spoke quietly in the shadows of an unused room. Hawke could never quite see who the Warden was. It appeared to be a male, somewhat slight of build. An elf, perhaps? Not that there were many elven Grey Wardens, or so he’d been led to believe.

It felt good for a change, for Hawke not to feel the burden of Anders’ eyes upon him. The man was undoubtedly completely unsure of his place with Hawke and truth be told, so was Hawke. The love that had found him clinging to Anders as if he’d been the last piece of wood floating by that could save his life, had dulled in the aftermath of what he had done in Kirkwall. Not dulled in intensity, but dulled in sharpness.

He’d always felt inextricably entwined with Anders, since that very first small smile he’d received. He’d wanted and oh, how he’d wanted. The man was sexy, he was beautiful, he was charming and he had pined for Hawke for a long, long while before the two had finally given in to their passions. And though Hawke could _feel_ that inevitable plummet happening every time he fell into bed with his beloved mage, he couldn’t stop it, like a force pulled him inexorably forward to love Anders as fast and hard as he could because something dreadful, awful, was going to happen and it would change his life forever.

How right his intuition had been. He didn’t regret sparing Anders. He regretted what Anders had done from the safety and sanctity of the home they shared in Hightown. He didn’t regret falling in love with Anders. He regretted the gaping hole left in his chest that didn’t seem to be able to find that feeling anymore no matter how much it tried. He didn’t regret bringing Anders with him. He regretted that Anders still wanted him in every way they had shared prior to That Day, but Hawke could no longer bring himself to the point where he could so much as hug the man.

The memory of Michael’s arms pained him in a way that stung pleasantly as he took a seat on a couch in some other room – the Keep was massive, so many rooms. Eventually Merrill found him. Then Bethany. They joined him, seating themselves on a couch across from him. No one spoke for long minutes.

Finally, Bethany. “When are we leaving for Highever?”

Hawke shrugged. “Depends on whether or not Anders’ old friends will help.”

“I can’t believe we’re in a Grey Warden keep,” Merrill observed. “I get funny looks from some of them. I think they believe me to be a recruit.”

“I have thought about it, to be honest,” Bethany admitted. Hawke felt a momentary thwack of alarm in his chest. “But,” she continued, “I don’t think I’m made of stern enough stuff to go hunting darkspawn.” She smiled and shook her head. “That would have been more Carver’s path than mine.”

Hawke nodded. “He actually would’ve been good at it. He always was a fine soldier.”

They fell silent. Then Merrill spoke up. “I heard about a clan of Dalish that’s camped in the Brecelian Forest where my clan stayed before we went to the Free Marches.” She half-shrugged. “I thought I might go to them and see if they’re already too full of mages. I…I miss being in a clan.”

“I think seeing you among the trees would be a happy sight indeed,” Hawke nodded. “You never really did fit into the city. Remember when we went on that wyvern hunt with Tallis, how much you loved being back out in nature?”

“Oh, yes,” Merrill replied wistfully. Then she giggled. “Remember how Anders got so upset when that beast sprayed you with its venom that he called you ‘love’ in front of us? It made him blush so bad and I thought Isabe—” Merrill’s face reddened. “Oh. I’m…sorry. Good thing I don’t wear shoes, as often as I’m putting one or both feet in my mouth.”

Hawke remembered. Anders had only just moved in. They were still in the honeymoon phase, his mother called it. She was still alive, then, not brutally murdered by a sick, twisted blood mage. He felt his face crumple but held it together as the very object of discussion entered the room.

“There you are,” Anders said softly. “I’m…my friend said I cannot stay here because of…Justice. But he…he also knew Justice, before I took him in, and…he thinks he may be able to help us, so...” Anders looked at Bethany and Merrill, but wouldn’t meet Hawke’s eyes. “He’s going to take me away from here, and…we’re, um…” Anders inhaled. Exhaled. “Anyway, they have horses you three can take to Highever or wherever you go next and just send word back as to where you leave them. The wardens will reclaim them.”

Finally Anders glanced at Hawke. “Okay?”

Bethany and Merrill looked to Hawke, who nodded and said, “Okay.” At last Hawke’s eyes met those of the man he’d once wanted so badly he could’ve happily crawled inside him and taken up residence next to Justice if he’d been allowed, but…that gaping hole was still there, and…no. He didn’t hate him. But…it was gone. Empty. “Thank you, Anders.”

Anders gave him a small smile. Looked briefly at the women. Nodded and left the room.

Hawke never saw the man he’d given up everything for, again.


	4. Highever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First Merrill, then Bethany. As Hawke comes to terms with the painful memory of having killed a friend, he finds himself truly alone for the first time in his entire life.

HIGHEVER

When Merrill had told him she was going to take the offered horse in Amaranthine and head south with two Grey Wardens who happened to be headed for the same part of the Brecelian Forest as she, Hawke gave her the first and last hug he ever would. She cried openly. He told her that he fervently hoped she found what she needed in this clan of Dalish she was after. She had left two days later. Bethany and Hawke to Highever, a day after that.

He felt even more empty. Anders had become a constant in his life. So had Merrill. So had Fenris, and he still couldn’t stop watching the life bleed out of his eyes every single night. Varric. Aveline. Sebastian. Everything he’d built in Kirkwall. Bodahn. Sandal. Orana. All the hard work. All for nothing.

For nothing except that he still had his beautiful sister. A mage. An apostate. Alive and well. Circles were breaking and mages were rebelling and among it all they traveled wearing hoods and capes and hiding everything that might’ve given a clue as to what they were or were not. Sticking to the safer places, keeping away from the mage and templar skirmishes and all-out battlefields. Racing their horses over hill and dale sometimes to avoid a particularly nasty skirmish.

Bethany was who he lived for now. She was, quite literally, all he had left. Soft and quiet, oh so sweet and good and pure, his Bethany. How he loved her. Protected her. Made sure she had everything she could want for no matter how tough it was to get it for her.

It had been a forever dog’s age since Hawke had heard from – what was it, his grandfather’s fourth cousin removed twice and replaced once or something? – Fergus Cousland. He was painfully aware that Fergus, now the Teryn of Highever, was the only one of the Couslands left alive. His parents, wife, son and sister had all died as part of numerous acts of treachery perpetuated by Loghain Mac Tir and his cronies. Fergus had lived only because he’d been injured on a scouting expedition into the Korcari Wilds and nursed back to health while the Hero of Ferelden and now-King Alistair traveled the country building an army to face the archdemon – a feat both men had lived through.

But Fergus, always glad for a bit of good news and happy reunions, welcomed William and Bethany with open arms. Introduced them to his wife of two years, Corinna, and their little girl named Eleanor, after Fergus’ mother. For once, Hawke found himself almost enjoying existing. It had been so many years since he had felt safe anywhere, and not just for himself, but for Bethany. Fergus knew full well that Bethany was a mage and didn’t care a whit, as he maintained no less than eight mages in his employ, all very hush-hush, and had for quite some time.

Bethany met them all, spent time with them all, delighting in sharing so openly and freely with others who shared her gifts. Some weeks into their stay she confided to her brother that she very much awfully a lot – her words – liked one of them quite well. He was a mage by the name of Larkin Cristoffle, some three years Bethany’s senior, who was in charge of all the animals belonging to the Cousland family from their Mabari to their horses to their flocks of goats and sheep and druffalo and everything else they had, chickens included. He was a healer to them first and foremost but enjoyed working with his hands among the animals just as much, everything from mucking out the barns to feeding them to milking the cows.

William realized quite quickly that Bethany truly had fallen in love, and the look on Larkin’s face when he thought Hawke wasn’t watching said it all in terms of how the man felt for her. It occurred to Hawke that for the first time in his life, there was a very real possibility that one mage could marry another and have an actual family together. This was definitely not something anyone in _his_ family had ever thought possible. He remembered, too, that it had been one of Anders’ fondest wishes, that a mage could marry and have a family. After all, they themselves had had to move many times over the years because of their father and Bethany both being mages. Perhaps times had changed enough now in the aftermath of the Kirkwall disaster that Bethany wouldn’t _have_ to live the rest of her life on the run?

So as Hawke got to know this Larkin better, and find out what his plans were, and discuss the whole matter with Fergus, who was after all Larkin’s employer, he also began to realize that if everything worked out as Bethany was clearly hoping it would, he would very soon find himself bereft of his sister as well as she left his side to start her own new life. She was still young enough to bear children and this was taken into consideration when some three months after their arrival at Castle Cousland, Larkin asked William for his sister’s hand.

Hawke had already talked out a plan with Fergus. The agreed-upon course of action was that the star-crossed lovers would enter proper courtship for six months and at the end of that time if they still wanted the marriage and the world around them was stable enough, they would marry and Fergus would allot them a small piece of land where Larkin and Bethany could set up their own animal healing practice together, a _veheri_ as it was apparently called in Tevinter. Until then, Fergus would take Bethany as his ward, for Hawke was growing restless. He didn’t know where to go or what to do, but staying with the Couslands was just not up his alley. Far too domestic for him, for one thing.

But now what?

Bodahn and Sandal had managed to slowly get everything out of the Hawke estate in Hightown – with Varric’s considerable help – and either sell it or send it to Highever. The last of the items were set aside in storage there for Bethany as part of the dowery that Hawke was leaving behind for her. For while he fully intended to return for what he was sure would be a wedding six months hence, he also didn’t really know if he would be able to.

He realized on his last night in the castle, why that uncertainty was still there. It was because he was still looking for it, after all this time.

_“The world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss. Watch for that moment, and when it comes, do not hesitate to leap.”_

He knew that the final abyss he was to face had not yet presented itself. But now that he was, for the first time in his life, alone, unfettered and not responsible for anyone but himself, Hawke knew the time had come to find it at last.

And as Hawke traveled the lands he found Stroud, a man he’d known just a bit from his Kirkwall days. Together they investigated the red lyrium that had driven Bartrand Tethras and Knight-Commander Meredith mad. It was the least he felt he could do for the dwarf he’d left behind to clean up his mess. Varric kept him updated on Donnic and Aveline and their clean-up efforts. Informed him that Knight-Captain Cullen had left the city for parts unknown.

Hawke thought fondly of the Templar. Saw often in his mind’s eye those beautiful eyes of his. The smile he’d seldom seen but had grown to enjoy trying to wheedle out of the far-too-serious man. Recalled how expressive his face was, and how tantalizing his mouth was when he spoke. All of these thoughts surprised him as he slowly rode his horse along a seldom-used trail behind Stroud’s proud steed. Hawke hadn’t quite remembered thinking of Cullen this way and yet now it seemed so obvious that the thoughts had indeed been there all along.

Sometimes he wondered how Anders was doing. Where he had gone. Who his friend had been that’d known Justice before Justice had become part of him. Someone from his time traveling with the Grey Wardens, no doubt. No longer felt a huge amount of pain when he came to mind. Just the dull ache of regret and what might have been.

Some three months after leaving Highever he got word that Merrill had found the clan, who was in such crisis having lost half their numbers and most of their halla herd to a shemlen mage attack, welcomed her and her Keeper training with open arms as they worked to rebuild all they had lost. Merrill had a purpose now, one that she seemed thrilled to work toward.

Hawke had no idea what Sebastian was up to, but he hadn’t exactly looked to find out, either. As far as he was concerned, the less that man knew about his or any of the rest of their whereabouts, the better. Although Varric did once offhandedly mention that he threw away any letters that came from Starkhaven.

He still saw Fenris’s eyes every night in his dreams. That one regret would not leave him as a dull ache as Anders had. It was as sharp and painful as it ever had been and it was only when Hawke dreamed one night as he camped alone under the stars, of their one and only night together before Fenris had walked away from him and everything Hawke had once hoped to have with him, that he understood why.

The elf had been an exceptionally large piece of unfinished business for Hawke. He had never explained himself, or why he’d left Hawke alone in his bed after their night of lovemaking. In the three years after that abandonment Hawke had moved on, falling for Anders, moving him into his mansion, keeping Fenris in the friend zone where he had placed himself ever since the morning after that had initially left Hawke a dazed mess for what to do.

There was no closure. And because Hawke had been forced to kill Fenris in self-defense, there never would be.

Why had he done that to them both? Why did the two men Hawke had tried so desperately to love, flipped his love so inside-out that it had left him with nothing left inside to give? Why had Fenris turned on him so completely in the end that he actually tried to kill him? Had he _wanted_ to die? Had he purposely sought Hawke out to be sure it was _he_ who killed him?

And that was when the stark realization hit him: of anyone and everyone who existed in Kirkwall, there was only one person who _could_ have killed Fenris. Because there was only one person he would have _allowed_ to do so.

As clouds parted above his head and a star-filled sky came into view between the tops of the trees surrounding him, Hawke finally understood what had happened that day. Fenris _had_ sought him out. Fenris _had_ wanted to die. Why, Hawke could only speculate. But he wondered selfishly if part of it hadn’t been because Fenris bitterly regretted walking out that morning and never coming back to his bed, to his arms, to his love. Never asking forgiveness for loving and then leaving him.

Had it been too much, that piled atop killing his sister? He recalled Fenris opening up to him after the death of his former master, that he’d thought it would finally bring that closure, but it didn’t. Fenris had lived so long with that boiling, festering hatred inside that he literally had nothing left once all those who had wronged him were dead.

And on top of that, he didn’t have Hawke either. To make matters worse, the one he’d lost him to was ‘the abomination’ that he hated with every fiber of his being. And in the end even though Hawke wasn’t himself a mage, he’d sided with them…taken Anders’ side, basically, and his sister’s, over Fenris’s. The rage Hawke had seen in the elf’s eyes that day…had it all really been directed at him?

Or had Fenris simply been raging against an unfair life that hadn’t taken him anywhere he’d wanted to go? A life that had given him the chance to be free, the chance to have the deepest, most thorough and all-encompassing love he could ever have known. Chances that he had squandered. Walked away from. Let slip through his lyrium-branded fingers.

Hawke cried out into the night. So blinded he had been by Anders. By the plight of the mages. So enraptured with the magic of making love to the man he’d loved body and soul. So caught up in making more money, getting more power, to ensure that his mother and sister were always looked after, only to lose his mother and have his sister locked up in a Circle where he wasn’t even allowed to visit her.

At the time, he’d thought he was giving Fenris what he wanted, which was basically nothing more than being one of his companions as they ran around Kirkwall helping everyone with their issues. But Hawke admitted in this moment as he cried for the elf he’d once been so obsessed with he could barely sleep, that he’d never really looked past Fenris’ walk-out. He’d never brought it up. He could tell himself it was because Fenris didn’t want to talk about it. But was that true? It’s not like Hawke had ever actually _asked_ him about it. Just that Fenris had never brought it up.

And neither had Hawke.

Had _he_ driven Fenris to seek him out, then? Was Fenris’ confession of love hiding in plain sight when he’d asked him to do the one thing for him that Hawke hadn’t even been able to do for Anders?

Put him out of his misery?

True or not, he felt it when he closed his eyes. When he saw it in slow motion…great green eyes that had once looked upon him with lust, now filled with hate as he rushed at him, the Blade of Mercy glowing over his head, raised to strike Hawke down. Terror over the implications had forced Hawke to act. Merrill had stopped the former slave, but Hawke had _killed_ him.

Green eyes filled with pain and anger turned quickly to regret and resignation.

Regret.

Resignation.

It had all been there for Hawke to see. Fenris had been in pain for six years. For the last three, it had been a pain caused by being forced to confront daily that Hawke and Anders were together in love, in home, in life. And Fenris was…

_“I am alone.”_

_“We’re all alone, Fenris.”_

_“That’s easy for you to say.”_

Oh, Maker, why hadn’t he seen it? Why hadn’t he _known_?

And Hawke mourned, at last, for what he’d lost six-and-a-half years ago when a white-haired elf had walked out of his Hightown mansion. And what he’d lost for not realizing it then.

He’d killed Fenris for years, slowly, flaunting Anders, flaunting that they lived together right around the corner from Fenris, flaunting their love publicly touching, kissing, sitting practically in his lap at The Hanged Man.

That day at the Gallows had simply been the physical act to end a misery he hadn’t even known was there. Because Hawke had been _that hurt_ and until this moment when only the night birds and insects were there to witness the agony of a man truly alone, hadn’t even understood _how_ hurt.

Tears rocked him to sleep. Whispered apologies into an uncaring ether. Pleas of forgiveness to one who was gone forever.

Eventually he fell asleep. Hawke never saw Fenris’s eyes there again.


	5. The Storm Coast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world is changing, and Hawke along with it.

THE STORM COAST

He and Stroud had been investigating Red Templars in the area. They’d managed to sneak their way into where the bastards were hiding out. Almost got caught a few times. Hawke always kept an eye out for the Grey Wardens that were hunting his friend. The sky had broken and for the first time in a long time, some month earlier, Hawke had heard the name Michael Trevelyan and discovered that something called the Inquisition had been formed in the aftermath of the explosion that killed hundreds at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. At the Conclave where he later discovered Michael had been. That _he_ had been its only survivor.

Hawke at first wanted to go to him, but the man was holed up in Haven surrounded by soldiers and people who guarded him day and night because he had something none of them did: a way to heal the holes in the sky.

For his part, Hawke had never seen anything like the green, twisting rifts that plagued the land. Stroud was convinced there was some connection. Hawke wondered why Thedas always seemed to be in crisis mode. First a Blight, then Kirkwall, then a mage and templar war, then a dead Divine and a world tearing itself apart for reasons unknown. Never mind red templars and darkspawn and all the terrors a man could imagine coming to vivid life before him.

Bethany assured him in sporadically received letters that she and Larkin were well on-track to become mage and wife, as she dubbed it. Fergus said little Eleanor missed Hawke. Merrill said she would soon undergo a joining ceremony with a Dalish lad she was head over heels in love with, who just so happened to be her new clan’s _hahren_. Varric he hadn’t heard from in a while, but he wasn’t worried. He knew his dwarf would turn up eventually on his radar. He still didn’t know anything about Anders and had resigned himself to the fact that he never would.

But Michael…alive and well and now the Inquisitor, of all things. Hawke supposed that really, he was happy for him. After all, it had to be better than being shoved into chantry service forever.

Which made him think of Sebastian. He should’ve killed that prick before anyone else, he often thought. As much as he’d loved him, it had taken nothing for the man to lash out in ways that made no sense given how wishy-washy he’d always been before that.

For the most part, Hawke had emptied himself of what guilt he could, accepted his role in the events of his life to date and spent his days not only getting to know Stroud but reading more, learning more, becoming more familiar with things like lyrium and what really happens to templars who take it and how it really enhances magical capabilities and why it’s needed in such quantities by mages.

He just felt that if he could unlock the secrets of lyrium, then he could figure out _red_ lyrium and finally give Varric some answers.


	6. Crestwood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter from his past that Hawke thought long-closed reopens other past chapters he isn't averse to revisiting.

CRESTWOOD

But then…things began to happen. Varric found him after they’d been forced to leave The Storm Coast for Crestwood, being chased by two Grey Wardens dispatched by Clarel to find Stroud, who’d disobeyed her orders after publicly disagreeing with her actions. Stroud knew of an old smugglers cave near Crestwood and they stayed there for a time while working things out on maps, discussing theories, and that was when Varric’s first note had come.

It was about Corypheus.

Maker’s breath, it’d been years since he’d thought of that very strange chapter of his life. What made it more difficult to think about was that along with Varric, both Fenris and Anders had come on that foray into the prison the Grey Wardens had built. He remembered Anders losing control. Remembered everything about that nightmarish encounter with a speaking, thinking darkspawn. And now, with that name being introduced into the equation, he and Stroud had something altogether different to think about.

Different and way more frightening.

The Inquisition was in Skyhold now, for Haven had been decimated by Corypheus, who shouldn’t be alive but somehow still was. And Varric wanted Hawke to come. Oh, and Curly? Curly was there, too. Curly being what he had begun calling Cullen as the Templar had become more and more friendly with Hawke – right up until, of course, Hawke refused to side with the Templars on The Day.

But Skyhold held something else that Varric didn’t have a clue of in terms of its importance to Hawke: the Inquisitor himself. And Hawke wasn’t entirely sure what to think when Varric’s words of, “ _The Inquisitor needs help with Corypheus. I told him I knew someone who could help. He wants to meet you._ ” made Hawke wonder if Michael had any idea that the person Varric was bringing into his fortress, was him.

And Cullen? So _that_ was where he’d gone after Kirkwall. Varric asked him in that same letter if he remembered Leliana, and said she was the Inquisition’s spymaster of all things. It sounded like somewhat of a reunion, though Hawke really wasn’t that keen on making himself a known quantity once again.

But Michael Trevelyan? The last time they’d seen each other, not only had Hawke gone to pieces, but the two had made love repeatedly and painfully, in some cases, if the leftover bruises that had taken two months to heal were anything to go by.

He supposed it was time to close another chapter, and then all at once as he contemplated whether he _really_ wanted to head to Skyhold or not, whether he _really_ wanted to involve himself so directly in the Inquisition after laying low for so long, it hit him.

He’d been looking for it since leaving Kirkwall.

Since leaving Ostwick.

Since leaving Amaranthine.

Since leaving Highever.

Since leaving the Storm Coast.

He’d been looking and looking and looking.

_“Watch for that moment, and when it comes, do not hesitate to leap.”_

Was this it, at last? Was Varric’s letter the invitation to his fate?

There was only one way to find out.


	7. Skyhold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reunions. Joy. An old love and a new. And perhaps, a witch's prediction fulfilled.

SKYHOLD

Varric’s introduction barely had time to leave his mouth, because Michael Trevelyan was already looking when Hawke began walking down the steps to their secret meeting location atop the walls of Skyhold, and the moment he saw William's face, he gasped his name on a half-choked sob and embraced him with such force it knocked Hawke back a couple steps.

The dwarf stumbled over the Champion's name, realizing something very big and very heated _that he didn’t know about, dammit!_ Was happening. Right now. Right in front of him. “I, uh,” he stammered, “take it you two know each other?”

Hawke couldn’t find his voice as the men parted. Michael looked amazing. He was so fit, so _built_ that his musculature rivaled Hawke’s. His shining ebony hair had grown out and was combed back, but still loose and a bit messy as it always had been. While he wasn’t wearing armor at the moment, he could tell his former lover had been doing a lot more fighting than he’d ever done at Ostwick.

“Well,” Hawke said with a crooked smile as he took in Michael’s very obviously changed face. He moved forward and ran a finger down a scar on his left cheek, then flicked his fingers at a couple now visible on both his upper and lower lips, “seems you’ve had a run-in or two.”

Michael smiled and Hawke suddenly felt a weight lift from his chest. He had a sort of…vision of sorts, he guessed, and didn’t that make him feel twelve kinds of odd…in which what Michael had given him nearly six months earlier, had just gone back to him. And likewise, whatever it was he’d given Mic had been returned back to Hawke. He felt it in his chest. A sort of…twinge. A pull and then a push, and the men smiled brightly at one another. He felt almost whole. Comfortable. Serene.

“So is anyone going to tell the storyteller how it is you two seem so, ehm, _familiar_ with one another?” Varric asked, impatience lacing his every word with sarcasm.

“No,” the men responded in unison, then laughed.

It was…strangely easy. Relaxed. There was a…what would Hawke call it…a glow of some sort? Gleam, perhaps. In Michael’s eyes, something…different, something he remembered from so many years ago. It was the same look the man _used_ to get when he looked into Hawke’s eyes when they were but pups in life. There was someone in Michael’s life now, he’d bet coin.

“The Inquisition looks good on you. Even your scars appear dignified.” Hawke winked. “Damn nobles.”

Michael laughed heartily and clapped Hawke on the back. “We’ll have to do some catching up tonight, and there’s someone special I want to introduce you to.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow. Yes…someone special indeed. He couldn’t wait to find out who it was that’d captured his friend’s heart in a way that had very clearly changed Michael Trevelyan for the better.

They got down to business. And Hawke felt…well, in spite of the topic being discussed, he felt… _good_.

* * *

Once the men had exchanged information and caught each other up on important Corypheus-related events, Michael begged his pardon and asked if Varric would give the former Champion of Kirkwall the sovereign tour while he met with Leliana and Cassandra about the results of their talk.

Varric said he would, but only if Michael remembered _not_ to tell the Seeker who his source was. Or that he had one at all. Or if he _did_ tell her, to conveniently lay the blame for knowing Hawke at his own feet since _evidently_ they were friends and yet Varric _knew nothing about it_ and wasn’t that just pissing him off royally? The dwarf groused as much to Hawke, whose booming laughter rang out over the ramparts while they examined the courtyard and Varric pointed out various points of interest.

Hawke had almost forgotten what it felt like to laugh.

“How long will you stay?”

“Not long, I’m afraid. I know Stroud will want to meet with Mic…the Inquisitor…as quickly as possible once I tell him what I’ve learned here today, but I thought to at least get a good sleep if I could be so bold as to impose.”

“Oh, there’s plenty of room,” Varric assured him as he opened a door into a tower that revealed…detritus. Everywhere.

Hawke blinked in surprise. “This looks unfinished.”

“Damaged,” Varric corrected. “When we arrived, we found Skyhold had been empty for many years, and neglected. Many parts of the roof are still missing in various places and oh, hey, wait ‘til you see Curly’s bedroom. It’s barely got what you’d call a roof!”

As Varric opened the door on the other side of the tower so they could continue their walk, Hawke froze. “Curly?” he repeated. “Oh, right…Cullen. Cullen’s… _here_.”

Varric turned and looked at his friend. “He’s changed a lot, Hawke, since you last saw him in the Gallows.”

Hawke stopped. Leaned against the door jamb. Ran his hands through his hair. “Does he know that those of us who left that day are…no longer together? I mean, I did leave with three mages surrounding me.”

“He very reticently asked me about you,” Varric offered vaguely. “I wasn’t sure how much you wanted him to know, but he seemed most concerned with Anders.”

“He wanted to be sure he wasn’t planning on blowing up any other chantries?”

“Not exactly. He was more concerned about…well, about your health and well-being, not to put too fine a point on it.”

Hawke’s eyebrows shot up. “He always was a decent sort.”

“And he still is. He’s still got some hangups about mages but he’s truly trying and he’s doing a good job. What happened in Kirkwall still gives him just as many nightmares as what happened at Kinloch, but he’s…well, he’s harder and rougher in some ways. In others, he’s softer. Kinder. But I’ll let you find that all out for yourself.”

“Oh, will you be taking me to see him, then?”

Varric gestured to the next tower, a short distance from where they stood. Three guards stood talking over a vent in the floor between the towers. “That’s his office. And his loft.”

“The one without the roof.”

“Exactly.”

“Ser Varric, there you are!”

The dwarf turned as a runner approached breathlessly. “The Inquisitor needs some help at his meeting and asked me to fetch you.”

Varric shrugged. Hawke shrugged back. “You’re being fetched,” the latter quipped.

The door opposite them, the one leading into Cullen’s tower, opened and a man appeared, saw him and stopped.

Varric elbowed him. “Looks like you’ll be fetched pretty soon yourself. I’ll catch up with you later, Hawke.” To the runner he said, “Lead the way.”

“Yes, Ser Varric.”

Hawke’s eyes were, for the second time that day, riveted to the face of someone from his past. Someone he’d never thought to see again until Varric’s letters had requested his presence. Cautiously, as though he was afraid that what he was seeing would vanish if he moved too quickly, Cullen moved across the divide separating them.

A divide of nearly nine months. Of thousands of miles. Of the Waking Sea. A divide that stretched from broken hopes and shattered dreams to a strange friendship and trust that against all odds had seen Hawke’s life spared on The Day.

As amazingly healthy and vibrant as Michael had looked, that was how completely _different_ and tired and world-weary Cullen looked. His hair was so light a blond it was almost too bright to look at in the sunlight. The closer he came, however, the more Hawke could only focus on his eyes. He left the support of the door jamb and he saw Cullen gesture to the three soldiers, who beat a hasty retreat through Cullen’s office and out a door further along.

The men met halfway between the towers and stood there searching each other’s faces. For what, Hawke could not say. But those eyes…those soft, light brown eyes. He recalled those with perfect clarity.

_Something within him pulled out of itself and Cullen seemed to take it in with a hitch in his breath even as he relinquished a piece of his own essence for Hawke to consume._

Now…it suddenly…he knew without a doubt it was reversing. Just as it had earlier with Michael, so now, too, with Cullen. A strange pull at his chest, like something physically was being hauled from him and then a sudden push and every weight that had remained upon Hawke’s shoulders vanished. It was there. They were still connected, only…the pieces were back in place.

In a more romantic moment, Hawke might even think to say that they’d taken pieces of each other with themselves that day so as to be able to find their way back to each other, and now that they had those pieces returned to their rightful owners.

He couldn’t explain it. He couldn’t ever hope to understand it. Couldn’t ask anyone about it for fear of playing the ignorant fool. But it was there.

And Cullen felt it, too. He smiled…and it had been a very long time since Hawke had seen him wear one of those. He returned the smile, so bright, so very bright, like everything was _too_ bright and Cullen spoke at last.

_They connected, irrevocably._

“Hawke.” One simple word. A word that meant everything here and now when William had been so alone for so long. Had lost and won and again lost it all, and now found himself standing here in the Frostbacks with the Commander of the largest army in Thedas sharing what probably were extremely goofy-looking grins.

And he didn’t think he’d ever been so happy to see someone before. Though Cullen wore some serious armor at the moment, Hawke cared not. He moved forward, wrapped his arms around Cullen’s body and hugged him and all his metal tightly. “Cullen,” he whispered as he laid his head on the taller man’s shoulder.

A slight gasp of surprise and then suddenly Cullen’s arms were around him, too. Never once had the men touched beyond Cullen handing him rewards for his work. And yet they now basked in something that nobody else, not even Varric, could share with either of them. Their personal tragedies, their unbearable pains, and that one halted moment in time that stammered and sputtered its way into slowing down long enough for one single solitary connection to form, it had finally come full circle.

There were no Templars here to hide from. No mages to be frightened of. No sister or companions to protect. There was no lyrium-crazed commanding officer, no radical rebel possessed apostate. But they knew all of those things about each other in horrific detail and yet here they stood, swaying slightly in the strong winds that always blew this high up the walls.

“Come,” Cullen said softly, oh, so softly, his voice a soothing balm as he pulled away just enough to gesture toward his tower. “Let me just grab a few scrolls I need to deliver, and I’ll take you down to the Herald’s Rest. There’s a warm fire and even warmer food and drink within.”

Hawke smiled. Nodded. Didn’t quite trust his voice for some reason. Couldn’t sort out what exactly his muddled head was telling him. He was road-weary, to be sure. He’d traveled for days on the back of a frisky mare to reach Skyhold. Perhaps that was it. A lot had happened today. He’d reached a magnificent and overwhelming castle. He’d seen Michael for the first time in six months. And now, Cullen, for the first time since Kirkwall.

He looked…weary. Worn. Perhaps not sleeping very well. But still good. Older, as was Hawke. Cullen was…he was beautiful. Golden. A knight in shining armor, and if that thought didn’t make Hawke’s face heat in embarrassment. Cullen had a new scar on his left cheek, but didn’t they all? Hawke and some demons hadn’t gotten along and he’d taken a claw to the face one day while travelling alone. Hence why his own scar wasn’t as taken care of as it could’ve been. Interestingly, the scar on Cullen’s cheek appeared to have suffered from the same lack of having a healer nearby soon enough to close the wound properly.

They entered the tower. Cullen closed the door behind them and moved quickly to his desk. Hawke took the time to look around. Oddly enough, there wasn’t a fireplace in here. He saw the ladder and looked way up – it appeared Cullen slept in the rafters, quite literally. There didn’t seem to be a fireplace up there, either. He wondered at that, but figured perhaps Cullen had some other way to keep warm – perhaps a mage had enchanted the room or something, for it was indeed as warm as if a roaring fire had been going.

“You’re weary,” Cullen observed. His sudden appearance at Hawke’s right arm made him jump a bit. “Will you be staying the night?”

“I was hoping to prey upon Mic – the Inquisitor’s hospitality, yes. He said there was someone he wanted to introduce me to tonight, however, so I’m trying to stay awake.” He shot Cullen a grin, just like he had in the old days and to his surprise, Cullen blushed.

And smiled, ever so shyly.

As Hawke turned a bit to better see what his grin had wrought, their eyes connected. Suddenly all those months drifted away as though they’d never happened at all, like he’d just imagined them.

In this moment, light brown eyes met blazing amber-red-gold ones. Hawke saw a flash deep into the man’s psyche. _Felt_ his pain. _Heard_ his soul.

“Hawke,” Cullen breathed, unable to tear his eyes away either, it seemed.

“Why did you let us go that day?” he asked, the words rushing out of him like water forcing its way through a crack in the dam. And oh, Maker, he hadn’t meant to bring up that terrible, awful day when Cullen lost just as much as Hawke had, if not more.

“I let _you_ go,” Cullen quickly corrected. “That those who accompanied you escaped with their lives was for this reason alone.”

“But…Cullen, I…I need to know why.” He looked away. “I _must_ know.”

Cullen’s gloved index finger gently lifted Hawke’s chin and turned his head until he had no choice but to meet the Commander’s eyes. His thumb ran along Hawke’s cheek and Hawke’s eyelids fluttered closed.

“I can tell you only that my heart would not see you harmed, least of all by my own hand.”

As if all the air had been sucked out of the room and then suddenly whooshed back in, Hawke saw it…realized it…knew it…could hear Flemeth’s voice in his mind.

_“We stand upon the precipice of change.”_

So much had changed. So very, very much. Templars and mages. Circles and chantries. Him. Bethany. Michael. Merrill. Fergus. And now here, looking him right in the eyes, Cullen showed that he, too, had undergone changes that no doubt he would learn more of in the coming months.

_“The world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss.”_

The world was trembling even now, which was the only reason Hawke was at Skyhold to begin with. It was coming. Or perhaps, he considered, as his and Cullen’s bodies swayed slowly and carefully together, then back apart, then together again, it was already here.

_“Watch for that moment, and when it comes, do not hesitate to leap.”_

Cullen’s eyes darted down to Hawke’s lips and…this was it. This was that moment. It was here. His breath hitched. And then he smiled.

_“It is only when you fall…”_

And then he fell into Cullen as Cullen fell into him. When the commander’s smile-touched lips met his, the world spun dizzyingly. Hawke thought he might quite _literally_ fall and grabbed hold of Cullen’s fur mantle as Cullen’s arms wrapped around him and pulled him close, so close. Hawke’s hands strayed into the Commander’s soft, longer hair and pulled Cullen deeper into the kiss.

Deeper into him.

_“…that you learn whether you can fly.”_

Cullen’s deep guttural moan in response made Hawke whine and then moan, and Hawke couldn’t stop smiling.

Because he’d discovered that although he couldn’t turn into a dragon? He could most definitely fly.


	8. Adamant Fortress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here lies the abyss, at last.

ADAMANT FORTRESS

They leapt out of the Fade. With but a gesture, Michael Trevelyan ended the siege upon those still fighting and closed the rift. Cheers erupted as Dorian wrapped his arms around his beloved Inquisitor and kissed him full on right there in front of everyone, so great was his relief. Hawke’s heart felt their great love like a warm blanket, but all he could think about was Stroud.

Stroud had been the one left behind. And Hawke was afraid that he knew why. Especially since Michael wouldn’t – or couldn’t – meet his eyes.

Ignoring the erupting cheers, Hawke turned wearily to look for one man in particular as Michael spoke with the remaining Grey Wardens. As he heard the Inquisitor grant them a partnership with the Inquisition. “I’ll be right there,” he heard Michael say and then the man was suddenly right before him, hands on his biceps, looking directly into his eyes.

“William,” the Inquisitor said, “you know there isn’t a world where I could have left you behind in the Fade.” His eyes became suspiciously wet. “But remember, it wasn’t you who made that decision. It was me.” He looked up and to Hawke’s right. “And there’s someone who’s very, very happy I did.” With that, Michael squeezed his arms and turned on heel, where Hawke could plainly see he was reuniting with his Dorian.

Then, remembering Mic’s words, Hawke looked to his right. Through the bodies of people who were walking or running to and fro…through the flames of torches and the smoke lingering from the battle…through the haze of it all, he saw Cullen’s eyes boring into him.

Hawke’s chest heaved as he took in the sheer relief on the Commander’s face and just like that they were moving fast, threading their way through soldiers and Wardens and companions and everyone who wasn’t them, and in the middle of all the chaos they found their bubble again. Their moment.

Hawke had fallen into yet another abyss. Leapt, though through no direct choice of his own. And yet in the end, he had not stayed.

“I made it out,” he choked into Cullen’s neck. “Stroud didn’t.”

Cullen had known Stroud, too, from various brushes back in Kirkwall. His arms squeezed Hawke tightly. Hawke’s squeezed just as hard, right back.

“I’m sorry,” Cullen whispered.

“That should have been me. I was the one supposed to be leaping.”

“You did.”

“But…”

Cullen brought a hand up to the back of Hawke’s neck. Pulled him away enough that their eyes could meet. Smiled ever so slightly. “You’ve proven the prophecy, William. You’ve completed it. It’s done.”

Because yes, Hawke had told Cullen of Flemeth’s words to him that day on Sundermount. They had spent many hours discussing it because they both loved philosophical discussions and uncovering truths and figuring out where things fit best.

Cullen’s thumbs rubbed Hawke’s cheekbones so gently that it not only filled the gaping hole that had been sitting in his chest since Kirkwall, but tore it wide open again, only this time to receive new love.

“It is only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly,” Cullen stated, then leaned forward and pressed their lips together. “You fell, William,” he said, bringing their foreheads together next. “And you made it out alive, and in one piece. That Stroud helped that happen is not a matter to feel guilt or remorse over. It’s a sacrifice to be celebrated and honored. For he allowed you see… _showed_ you…that you can indeed fly.”

A few moments in which Hawke relearned how to breathe. Allowed Cullen’s truth to settle around him like a mage’s barrier. “Did I fall in love with you back in Kirkwall and not notice?” Hawke asked, drawing a chuckle from the man whose side he’d barely left for nearly three months now.

“I think perhaps we both were a bit too preoccupied to notice, if that was the case,” Cullen acquiesced. “And yet here you are, now, impossibly. You’ll…stay, won’t you?” His eyes flicked to where the Inquisitor was discussing Wiesshaupt nearby with Leliana and two Grey Wardens.

“I…” Hawke faltered. He didn’t know whether Michael needed him to do anything, but he felt as if perhaps he should make the long journey to Weisshaupt to warn them what was possible now that they knew what Corypheus was capable of where anything tainted with darkspawn was concerned.

The Inquisitor broke away from his small group and moved toward Cullen and Hawke, who separated just enough to not appear to be making out when the man needed to talk business. Michael smiled brightly at them when he caught on to the looks in both men’s eyes, then turned and pointed to a Grey Warden who was in full armor, helmet included. “That warden has volunteered to make the long journey to Weisshaupt so he can try to talk some sense into them, because Leliana doesn’t think they’re paying any attention to her messenger birds.”

“But don’t you need these wardens fighting demons?” Hawke asked, “Rather than making thousand-mile journeys, I mean.”

“He can kill demons and darkspawn he finds along the way. Besides, he won’t be going alone. There’s another warden who’s apparently been wanting to handle some unfinished business left over from the last Blight, eager to accompany him.”

Hawke nodded, saw the Grey Warden in question looking at him and nodded his head in acknowledgement. There was something…oddly familiar about the gesture, he thought, but Michael and Cullen quickly stole his attention back to themselves.

“Will you…stay, then?” Michael asked. “I know my commander has been an awful lot happier with you around.”

Cullen chuckled. “Yes, a fact which everyone I know at Skyhold insists upon bringing up every chance they get.”

Hawke ducked his head, unable to hide his wide grin. “I…well, if you don’t need me to go out on a mission or anything, I do have one or two things I might be able to do here to further your cause.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear it.”

“As am I,” Cullen beamed.

“Listen, it’ll take a few days for us to reach Skyhold and since we have to pass near Val Royeaux anyway, Lady Vivienne insists we all meet with her tailor for formal wear we’ll need to attend upcoming functions in.”

Cullen groaned. “Blasted Orlesians,” he groused.

Michael chuckled. “You get a one-week reprieve unless anything pressing comes up. Enjoy your time in Orlais,” he said, then turned when Dorian tugged insistently upon his hand to lead him away from the whole mess atop the fortress.

“I think perhaps we should think about where we’ll be sleeping tonight,” Cullen stated as he led Hawke to a different set of stairs that would take them from the battlements. “Where would you like to be? Under the stars or inside four walls?”

Hawke smiled. “Wherever you are will do.”

Cullen blushed, smiled and kissed him gently, then put a hand at the small of his back and ushered him down the staircase.

* * *

A lone Grey Warden stood watching it all. Beneath his armor, no one knew his heart was thudding. Beneath his helmet, no one knew his eyes were full of unshed tears.

“Hey,” another warden said as he approached, removing his helmet slowly so as not to catch his pointed ears in the metal. “You ready to head for Weisshaupt, Anders?”

The mage removed his helmet and shook out golden hair that fell to just below his shoulders. “Yeah, Tabris,” Anders replied softly, pulling his emotions back from the ledge. “I’m ready.”

After a few moments of silence, the elf asked, “Did he know you were here?”

“Did anyone know the Hero of Ferelden was here?” Anders countered, shooting Tabris a look.

Tabris sighed. “It’d cause more fuss than it was worth. Imagine if they all knew what we looked like well enough to have realized who all of us were, standing here in one place fighting side-by-side.” He shook his head. “At any rate, we have some traveling to do and some elven and mage rights violations to quell. And since you aren’t graced with Justice’s presence anymore, we’ve got only ourselves to rely on, so let’s go.”

Anders nodded and looked once more at the spot where Hawke had disappeared down the steps with Cullen. “Goodbye, love,” he whispered.

Then he put his helmet back on and followed the Hero of Ferelden into history.

* * *

For those who are interested in seeing what the versions of these characters look like across my games, so you have a glimpse into what I saw as I wrote this, here you go:


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